Alpha
by Neophyte Ronin
Summary: After Deepground's defeat, Reno fights the Silver-Haired Men once again, but nothing is as it seems. As he swims against a boiling riptide, he must confront a desperate chain of command, an undying phantom, and decipher his own recurring nightmares...


_**Disclaimer**__: Characters from Final Fantasy Seven are copyrights of Square-Enix. Nobody may manipulate or transfer this written work to other sites without the expressed written consent of the author._

**XOXO**

_"Alpha is not only the first in line, but also the first in significance. The alpha emotion: I see two people's reactions. They are shaken to the core; they lean against each other for support. It is an unnamed feeling, a sort of platonic love that unites all humanity in front of danger, and especially those two..."_

**XOXO**

"Again," Reno cried, disaffectedly. "Spotted in Edge again?"

"Simple really," explained Tseng, fixing his collar subtly as his back turned from the subordinate Turk. "Eyewitnesses spotted the gang with a pack of monsters. This is our chance to prove our goodwill to World Restoration and other countries. Elena and I will coordinate local law enforcement against the monsters; I suspect you two already know your assignment?"

Rude fixed his collar, discreetly feeling his coat for bumps consistent with spare shades. "Sure thing boss," he said. "We'll do our job."

Reno, a frazzled redhead raked his forehead where he felt incessant pounding; the sauce thinned in his blood. "How or why did they come back, _and_ in Edge?"

Tseng grimaced, averting his eyes: "That's for you to find out."

_...First letter of the Greek alphabet..._

**ALPHA**

The corporation secured enough capital to afford two motorcycles--fancy hybrids publicly communicating good environmental sense--and plenty of ammunition stocked in special retractable compartments alongside myriad weapons. They ripped several ideas from their occasional comrade-in-arms (though they asked politely). Despite such upscale high-tech support Reno's head still chafed in his helmet as they revved forth.

"What's your theory on their grand return Rude," Reno sarcastically debated with Rude over the intercom. "They barely lived through the latest in Shin-Ra technology, and even he said they went away!"

"Don't look at me," Rude cried. "Keep your eyes on the road. We don't make them--we just hunt them--and I'm glad... jerk used to ramble all day long--freak me out--wonder why I stayed with the company."

"...You mean that crisis of faith after listening to Hojo? So why stick around Rude?"

Even if Reno could not see his face through the black tinted helmet, he knew the bald jerk's face grinned:

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be...!"

Straight ahead, a few smoking buildings and landscape of debris granted them a brief gauging of the situation. Though their motors hummed harder with a kicking into high gear, they knew panicked shouts and scurrying complemented the smoke and scourging. Indeed, the brothers returned, and in top form.

"Enough prattle," Rude proclaimed, pressing a button on his bike. "Show-time...!"

He grasped the automatic shotgun that appeared from a compartment; Tseng used the catalogue this time instead of Reno and ordered automatics instead of pump-action... wise move. Either model spitted shrapnel in a cone like stubbing toes on claymores, but Rude didn't feel like jerking around with a pump while riding at hundred-plus kilos at a time. The balanced stock and barrel felt natural as his body's natural extension as he scanned the realm for his first kill.

Rufus would marvel at this savage displacer hound, a four-legged foul that made Dark-Nation appear tamer than its master preferred. It ran adjacent to Rude's bike but barely acknowledged him until shots struck its legs. It tumbled repeatedly upon the ground, leaving the horrified city-dwellers alone only in its inertness. Tentacles rose skyward briefly before dropping.

"Nice hit," Reno complimented. "But save the shells--facing remnants again!" He revved hard, brazenly entering a residential district, insistent on drawing first blood.

"Save the shells," Rude mocked. "Give me a break; people were running from that thing, didn't you see that?"

"What," Reno blurted, checking behind him. "Oh sorry..."

"You made our mission easier," Tseng said over the receiver. "So in return, your targets massed near the fountain--signal to you guys, I guess--so our secret's out."

"Copy that," Rude said, revving to match Reno's in proper formation.

They arrived to admire the fountain's renovation post-Shin-Bahamut. Reminiscing on that creature hurtling towards those orphans sent brief shivers through both men. As they averted negative thoughts, two bikes nearly ran into them, but passed them instead.

"Rude," Reno cried, barely registering it. "Did you just see that?"

Rude braked and turned his head, his bike stilled. Two bikes bearing the shape and marking of Kadaj's gang exited into shadow. "They took off," Rude grunted. "What, are we late or something?"

Immediately behind, a disgruntled remnant took the bunt of his double blade and smashed Rude's helmet. Reno immediately flipped the switch for a spare prod and stylishly leapt off his bike. His adversary, instead of the long-haired gun-slinger or the spike-haired brawler, was the one jerk Reno never wanted to fight one-on-one, or even with Rude... not without another rider who drifted into his mind!

"Back off fuzzy," Reno cried, holding a keypad in his hand with a small keychain microphone. "Encircle," he cried, pocketing it. His vehicle revved and followed the command, encircling the fighters. The silver-haired fop growled under-breath, as he should!

"I don't care what you think this is," the black-suited warrior urged. "You will not interfere with Mother!"

"We interfere with anyone interfering with us," Reno growled. "Or the people of Edge...!"

Reno always enjoyed these jobs. Regardless of the company's public image, he got to bring the pain on evil forces on many occasions: terrorists, pimps, killers... you name them, he thwarts them. Since the kid got in charge, corruption and apathy got switched with justice and honor, things the company might have once lacked.

"Just what I thought," his adversary noted most keenly. "Clueless!"

"Shut up!"

Reno struck first--first blood. The warrior parried the measly rod with his unusual two-blade katana, but a kick to the shins taught the silver tongue some humility. Both Turks bought the opportunity to climb from the ground or step back, flanking the incensed target.

"Give up Kadaj," Rude shouted, taking stance learned by watching a friend in action. "Your skills are weak..."

Kadaj took offense and whipped a dreadful arc that scraped the shotgun--Rude's makeshift shield--and as the Turk asserted his balance Reno followed up. Sadly, his shins got cooked instead, felling him aground.

"It's not what you think," Kadaj cried. "Why won't you listen?"

"Your track record," Rude reflected, aiming his piece at the black-suit's foppish face. He pulled the trigger...

...But something yanked the shades off his face from behind! A ladies' giggle escaped an unknown mouth as Rude hesitated, eyes adjusting to brightness. Kadaj slapped the shotgun from Rude's hand and held the katana to the brawler's neck.

"I just said it's not what you think," Kadaj cried. "Back off!"

"Fire," Reno cried.

The bike's mechanical cannon revealed itself. It fixed and tracked Kadaj, sending potshots and compelling a series of daring parries and rolls along the ground, using the fountain as makeshift cover as the motorcycle orbited it, like sun and moon. This ate at Kadaj's clock more than anything, distracting him from gutting his tormentors.

Reno held out his hand to get Rude on two feet. "We'll hoof it," Rude suggested, holding keychain to mouth. "Scout, forward..."

Rude's machine shot forth, scanning fume traces of their foes' engines. As Kadaj vied to smash Reno's bike to bits and chuck the blade into the infernal punk's head, the youthful Turk checked his prod. "I got to say it man," he said. "Not your fault!"

"You're kidding," Rude cried, getting new shades on his eyes. "I flubbed back there! Boss will have my card for breakfast!"

"Hey we're still alive," Reno shouted. "Not what I meant! I mean, I saw her!"

"What? Who...?"

"Y-You know! Her!"

"Jenova...?"

"Oh God, you're dense..."

"Hate guessing games--"

"...Okay, who do you like?"

"...Why are we--?"

"Don't go to sleep on me Lunch Box!"

"...Y-Y...You know who!"

"Yeah, her; always thought you'd have a shot at Elena."

"Elena likes Tseng."

"Yeah, and who does Tseng like?"

"...Uh...? Were you--?"

"--I didn't dream that up pal; I saw her...!"

"...Yeah, and I heard and felt her."

"What--!"

_**BOOM!**_

The Turks beheld the next disaster already in progress: small building lit aflame as their targets leapt away, their wheels each spitting flames in fetal positions, with Rude's bike parked near them. The concrete mutants rolled to dispel what ineffectual fires erupted on their skin.

"Rude," Reno asked. "Did you command this thing to--?"

"--Negative," Rude abruptly answered. "You know I conserve bullets."

"Is it a rainy day yet?"

Rude aimed at the short-haired brute. "No."

K-POW!

...At that distance, remnants only felt a mild pelting. Worse, Rude recognized a pale blue spherical light that lit up as pellets punched Loz, the trio's hand-to-hand specialist. His shot had no effect; the light served as a barrier, dispelling shrapnel that otherwise connected.

"I got Yazoo," Rude said, retraining his aim toward the long-haired gunner. "Keep his pal busy would ya?"

"...Great," Reno spat sarcastically. "Think he wants to play?" Well he rushed forward, seemingly enough. He got the muscular dude's attention as Rude drew the first shots--K-POW, K-POW, K-POW--but struck a pale blue barrier--hexagonal plates of force--sparing Yazoo from each lead swarm.

"It seems Kadaj did not speak clearly enough," Yazoo said, not raising his weapon yet. "We return... but as brother told you anything?"

"We got your message," Rude cried. "Here's mine: get off our planet!"

Rude punched three more K-POWS before hearing that all-too familiar and much-too disturbing click noise from emptied hardware. A brief scoff from the vain opponent failed to distract Rude from Reno's scuffle: not according to plan, as usual.

"Aw, big boy don't want to play anymore," Reno spat, blood trickling from his mouth. He veered from Loz's electrified gauntlet and grabbed the arm. A quick spin around and trip to imbalance a foot and Reno sent Loz aground, no small feat considering the odds of success!

But Rude got distracted. Being at the center of a wide street without nearby lampposts or alleys subjected him to Yazoo's scant mercy. The long-haired fop drew his foot-long pistol.

"Hold still," Yazoo murmured darkly.

POW!

By then, Loz twisted Reno's leg with bare hands to avoid getting stomped, but only tripped him without going further, having heard the shot. Reno immediately scanned Rude, and Loz scanned a monster, another another displacer creature blasted through the head, the dread panther's tentacles going limp behind Rude's cowed back.

The Turk turned around and back in shock to his apparent hero. "What's this," Reno asked, gesturing to the corpse. "What's going on?"

The burning building's front doors exploded; the debris almost clipped Reno and Loz but bounced over their heads, slamming into another building on the opposite side.

"That's going on," Yazoo reflected, turning to gauge whatever came out.

Between both Turks, Reno beheld the new adversary first as Rude crept to his machine, retrieving a new shotgun. A tall and blackened form bounded from the building in a brisk power-walk, marching down the stairs with casual airs, disregarding all fires, including ones incinerating its helmet's plumed mane.

"See that," Yazoo grumbled, training his piece upon the tall warrior--brandishing a long, jagged brand of alien style. "That's that. Now _kill_ that... _that...!_"

And he fired at _that_.

Rude set his emptied weapon into his vehicle's shotgun vendor to reload it. His new piece, a clone of his previous pieces, contained fresh slugs. As Loz roared deeply and charged the being, Rude approached Reno, for it distracted the remnants.

"Know what's up," Rude asked.

"...No, what?"

The swordsman bashed Loz upon the ground, single hit, even using the pommel, but chortling so deeply as to suggest he played with its prey.

"For once I want to call it a day early."

Yazoo ineffectually fired his gat's remainder at the creature and rushed in to tackle it. Rude got Reno off the ground again and trained his weapon upon a remnant's head.

"Rude," Reno cried. "Are you sure--?"

"--Our job," Rude exclaimed. "Grab a gun."

Reno stepped once, then skittered and then bolted for Rude's motorcycle to retrieve artillery. The waves of heat failed not to distort Rude's reality; remnants ducked the sweeping arc of a serrated blade but that thing's accented war cries prompted indecision in the stolid tough guy. Did he imagine the Ancient's presence or did something supersede their initial quest for glory?

"Give her back to us," the demonic suit of armor cried in some thick foreigner's accent. "You know whom she truly serves!"

"Who do you think you are," Yazoo cried. "Mother belongs to nobody!"

"Ha! Mother...!" The bruiser swiped; Yazoo leapt back too late, a horizontal line of red formed on his chest. He collapsed during the beast's tirade: "Mother spreads lies! Mother plays you like fools!"

Loz charged almost valiantly, but the Dread One stuck his arm out and stopped him, grabbed his neck and chucked him rapidly over his head and onto the pavement, smashing his head. The big lug knuckled under. Still, neither remnant bled externally, though Rude knew dangerous assumptions became at this moment!

Knowing its helmet's visor transfixed both Turks in place, the creature plummeted forth for easy kills. However, the Turks retained notoriety for classic feints; Rude dove away from an otherwise perfect vertical cleave of his body.

To follow up, Reno whipped out a loaded gat and hosed the sucker, each shot fired closer than the last. The last hit tipped the big bad-ass over, and Reno squealed forth to bunt its head repeatedly, until Rude gripped his arm.

"Yo," he cried. "I think you got him!"

Reno and Rude observed their lifeless prey; Reno slung the shotgun over his shoulder, reaching for pocketed cigarettes as Rude silently folded his arms. "Yeah," Reno said. "We got him. Leave it to us to beat back the creeps of the netherworld, right Rude?"

"I think it's twitching," Rude said.

"It _was_ twitching," Reno corrected, aiming for the head.

Click.

And it twitched some more... and its hand reached violently.

Reno shriveled up and clutched Rude haplessly. "Do something, Tons-of-Fun!" Unflinching, Rude waved "hello". It looked human and perhaps only the fire's charring stained the armor black. It also crushed two remnants--or temporarily, given Cloud's testimony to their endurance--so perhaps it might be an ally?

Run.

"_Hear_ that," Reno asked. Rude looked skyward with Reno to the beat of chops far above. "Choppers..."

"Cavalry's ahead," Rude reflected. "...On their way."

_Run._

"What was that just now," Reno cried, scanning the remnants. "Could have sworn those guys moved--"

"--Report this," Rude suggested. "Wait, you got any cuffs; think I--"

_Run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-__**run--!**_

"Did you hear _that_," Reno asked, bug-eyed, no time to fumble into in pockets.

The creature rushed and gripped Rude's coat, pulling him down.

"You heard her," he growled. "Blow off, pig!"

He chucked Rude away, procuring Rude's shotgun but receiving Reno's unfathomable rage. Immediately, he acquired the reloaded shotgun from the machine's vendor and screeched all hell's fury, blasting Dread One with blast after blast, successfully clipping and damaging its shotgun out of its hand. Since the final blast did not ground it, Reno drew his prod and tore into it.

"Never," the Turk furiously screamed. "You'll never hurt her!"

He kept his prod charged with high-density lithium-ion batteries for occasions as these; metallic armor made wet-work a cinch, to. Given the creature's special significance in Reno's heart, he upped the amps to max to evaporate the creature's heart. As the charge drained, the steaming chunk of tin fell to the sole place on the planet Reno imagined would accommodate such a grotesque invader.

Paying no intentional heed to remnants, he knelt before Rude, who suffered quite a shock. The fire rumbled as choppers flew overhead, perhaps scanning the action below, and Rude merely sighed. "Did I say there's no place I'd rather be than this," he asked.

"Well..."

"Don't answer that."

Now Reno pulled him to two feet. They scanned the remnants. "Don't know what to say," Reno said. "They said we don't know what's up, but aren't willing to talk about it. You think they want to redeem themselves this time, not be the monsters--?"

"--Doubtful," Rude grunted. "Why would remnants pity humanity? They think they're superior to us; won't budge a finger for us."

"What about us," Reno asked. "Thought we were so high and mighty, then Sector Seven came down and I hated myself for a whole year. Wasn't paid to show it but after hours I couldn't even look in the mirror."

Rude scanned Reno's hair. "You _never_ look in the mirror," he quipped wryly. "But I get you; why else did we get a crisis of conscience and rescue a bunch of orphans like that? ...We felt responsible, for one. Another, she'd _kill_ me otherwise."

"Yeah," Reno said. "_Exactly_... remember what Cloud said? ...We're all guys here. What single force in the world truly compels us forward?"

"_Woman..._"

"That thing threatens _her_," Reno said, pointing to deadened metal. "Say remnants serve _her_; wild guess or wishful thinking?"

A disaffected chortle caught their ears and soon both beheld a metallic horror rising to his feet, unaffected. Reno triple-checked batteries before missions; how did it cheat death so flagrantly against four extra amps? Reno one-shot ogres for one-sixth as much!

"Young fools," Dread One proclaimed bitterly. "Mother Nature... is a bitch."

"What," Reno cried. "She's harmless! What's she to you?"

"Mother Nature is a bitch," Dread One repeated. "Baron stabbed her in the back and raped her twice. He severed her head, put it in a blender then fed it to his cats!"

The Turks eyed the fallen displacer creature behind them, its tentacles still lifeless. "And I," proclaimed the knight, sending his arms into the air. "I will make this city an epitaph... to the darkened, hardened rain!"

Reno instinctively glanced skyward, catching a raindrop into in his eye. Rude took the shades off. Grayed skies drizzled. The cackling from the death metal freak reinstated their stance, concentrating less on sophistry than on survival.

"Reno," Rude addressed, holding out his bike's microphone. "Call backup."

"Yeah right," Reno cried. "I hit the DS; _that'll_ clue them in!"

"Fair enough," Rude nodded, covertly whispering into his microphone.

"So," the knight said, walking toward them with razor extended forward. "This DS you speak of... is that a 'Distress Signal'?"

"Yeah," Reno grumbled. "So what...?"

This crisis proved too dire not to send a DS out but Dread One spoke as if to confirm foreknowledge than outguess jargon. As it crept closer maliciously, Reno wished not to have damaged the shotgun it claimed, since everything else got either spent or broken. Even with hardware, nobody pinned Dread One down for long. Rude wondered: did it even bleed?

"I see Shin-Ra told you nothing of me, huh?"

Dread One stopped in his tracks in preference to outright slaying his prey--again, playing! Reno put a hand on his hip and searched with his baby-blues for alternatives beyond fleeing and straight fighting. He briefly scanned the unconscious remnants; Yazoo probably emptied his gat, but Loz's gauntlet still sparkled between two points...

"What do you mean," Reno cried. "Shin-Ra told us nothing?"

"Oh I already gave it away," Dread One lamented mockingly. "And if I talk, you won't believe me."

"Planet belongs to no-one," Rude bellowed, balling his fists. "Leave!"

"Yeah," Reno cried, agreeing. "Get off the planet already!"

With that said, Dread One growled and raised his blade. Rude summoned all warrior spirits within him, growing weary of this interloper. Dread One's endurance--like he fed off agony--horrified him. Rude needed to recall every trick observed in the warriors he admired--the ones who willingly and blindly dare against such insufferable foes!

"I've waited for this as well," Dread One boasted. "I can feel it!"

It threw its blade skyward... but being bound to a chain in his gauntlet, the long weapon dangled and spun about on it, tracing deadly, hypnotic circles before a suddenly hesitant grappler. Regardless of Dread One's technique, Rude knew the chain hindered his original tactic of disarming a weapon-dependent dragoon.

"Dude," Reno proclaimed, momentarily distracted. "...Sword-Chucks!"

"Offer thy soul," Dread One demanded, grasping the blade. It plunged it into the pavement. "_Doom of the Planet..._ _**Crusher Beacon--!**_"

Dread One swung the blade down hard; being too far from Rude, this appeared purely ceremonial at first. Rude double-checked the ground where the sword hit and somersaulted painfully aside from a yellow-orange line that smoked towards his feet. Rupturing behind him in gout of fiery rock, an explosive blast conformed into a flaming sword, an emblem of destruction where he stood before. Rude thought of nothing else before he rolled from a downward slice aimed at his head.

"Whoa," Reno cried, mostly to himself. "...Now we know what caused the fires..."

Rude got to his feet, readying for a tactless slugfest--no fanciful tricks here! He veered from side to side, seeking openings between a sword that refused to stay still for long, and legs shuffling here and there, omitting clear opportunities.

The devil's dance quickly ushered perspiring impatience. "Come on and fight," Dread One roared. "Be you grappler or juggler, _clown-shoe?_"

"_Clown-shoe_," Rude repeated trying to remember defining characteristics of speech (since he never heard this accent before).

Dread One raged forth, blade pointed squarely through Rude's shades, but the suit splashed again through a puddle; this psychotic killer gave Rude a cleaner's bill early in the workweek. If only it stopped to glance upon the redness behind those shades just then...!

"You're stalling," Dread One cried. "Aren't you?"

"Pretty much," Rude smugly replied as he pulled out his key-chain. "Assault aggressor," he commanded.

His vehicle sprung to life and a shotgun-turret--eight shells, more than enough for his purposes--revealed itself. The machine sped around Dread One, fascinating it with its presence.

"Bununza would be so proud," it commended bitterly, sailing for it with its masterful steel. The gat discharged, jarring its moves slightly. While this too failed to phase it, it dove right into Rude's trap...

"Disarm," Rude commanded.

The bike aimed for the chain-linked gauntlet and fired, blasting the forearm away.

Dread One stood there, without an arm and staring at it for a moment, then at the spot where his sword and hand landed, and then back at the machine--humming proudly, mind you--and then back at Rude, who for the first time in any fight, actually had a smile on his face.

"You suck," it protested, throwing his arms _(remainder thereof)_ into the air. "You're just like every other templar I've fought in the past eight years! If it weren't for your girl squad or your stupid fancy chocobo, I'd have had this fight in a snap... in my palm!"

"The only snap I heard, _pal_," Rude quipped. "...Was when your arm got blasted off. So you can forget about your palm, too."

Dread One growled and stretched his fists out. "Only a scratch," it cried. "So come on! Don't hold back now!"

Rude scratched his head to this display, but shrugged and cracked his neck. "White: strike," he advised, urging him on. "Black: counterstrike!"

Something heavy bunted his head from behind and he fell.

Rude's assailant patted his makeshift blackjack--bereft of bullets--and glared down his true adversary, having regained some sense through the "Blackened Hardened Rain" mentioned before, now completely immersive.

"Your move now," Yazoo quipped, otherwise biting his tongue.

"Very well," Dread One said, suddenly stretching and letting his field plate reveal--through many chink-chink-chinks--its full, cruel scope: every other pore unveiled a spike. Forget arms; body-slams bled you!

Yazoo once battled warriors with motorcycles but here, he lacked bullets. Still, the bike operated temporarily in his favor, insofar that its owner lay sprawled upon the ground. He stayed confident in the domination.

So didn't the dreaded one, who even laughed!

"You missed something," it sneered, raising both hands into the air and walking away from Yazoo. "It's a machine... _just_ a machine. _Just_ like you, _just_ like them, just like _me_. We're _all_ machines. What do machines _do?_ _One_ thing... they do the _one_ thing the maker _wants_ them to do. And _what_ did that master ask of his machine... _that one thing?_"

The dreaded one backed amicably away from Rude. The motorcycle revved, and Yazoo caught how the shotgun trained upon him.

_Miscalculated..._

The remnant fled the first blast, diving into the alley between two buildings--one burning. The bike's lights entered the gap and fired again, though Yazoo hid behind a dumpster. He then bolted for a high chain-link fence, leaping up halfway, climbing the rest, and leaping onto the ground below... just as he got skimmed. He kissed blood; hot pellets kissed his back and he prayed mother would kiss them away soon.

Losing sight of Yazoo, the bike reasserted its attention upon the other threat against Rude. But it reasserted too late; Dread One crept from behind, setting his forearm and locked gauntlet painlessly back onto its remainder, gripping the steel and precisely and victoriously stabbing the bike's fuel tank.

Rude, still in possession of most sense, knew well what this portended. While Dread One busied himself, he crawled away. He always kept a nitroglycerine cap handy in case someone tried to hijack the machine.

Yeah, _in_ the machine...

_**...BOOM...**_

Dread One careered through the atmosphere--a second time--as a deafening shockwave pummeled against Rude's hands, which he planted upon his ears.

Reno, out of sight for opportunities, emerged from his hole. "H-Hey Rude," he said. "You don't suppose that killed him?"

"We'll find out," Rude said, glaring at Loz's body. He staggered, vigorous but his adrenaline thinning, and knelt before the remnant. "Is Loz dead?"

Reno checked his prod. "No, but his weapon is," he commented airily. "Makes interrogations easier; don't think they're any _more_ alive than that freak..."

"Why haven't the firefighters showed up," Rude asked. "Been ten minutes since we got here; God knows how long that's been burning...!"

"Think anyone's alive," Reno asked.

"With these three nimrods," Rude replied in belligerent dismay. "...Swinging and shooting at each other--? --Hey, _wake up!_"

Rude slapped Loz's face, having detected the chest rising faintly. Loz quickly fixed his eyes on Rude and squirmed up too fast for the Turk's tastes. Rude gripped the dominant arm. "Cool it," he cried. "Tell me:"

Loz hoisted Rude off with minimum effort and rose, gauntlet readied. However, without electrical sparks, he looked around and then zeroed in on Reno, a tear escaping him.

"Yeah sorry bud," Reno said. "It takes Double-Dees too."

Loz sniffed, perhaps at odds with the inclement downpour. Reno got annoyed at such squeamishness. "H-Hey, don't start that, man! That's not what we're here to do! ...I think? I mean, I don't think we really have to--"

"Shut up Reno," Rude blurted. "Just tell us who or what _that_ is, and why you want to nail him... really! He's _nearly_ as bad as _Sephiroth!_"

"I-I believe," Yazoo weakly called, swaying from the alleyway. "I believe... I can answer your questions..."

He limply held out his emptied weapon and let it drop. Rude stood straight while Reno shuffled about; never before had either group stand still quite like this.

"...I can tell he _doesn't_ use materia," Rude reasoned. "Who is he?"

"Black..." Yazoo collected his thoughts, catching faint breaths. "B-Black, he's a... a Black Sheep. Black Sheep... t-they invade... y-you die... any questions?"

"Plenty," Reno said, carefully eyeing Yazoo's lurching. "Why are they here?"

"They're... here," Yazoo uttered. "For your... _technology_... they see you as something they can _consume_..."

"Sounds like you guys," Reno blurted. "What's this, a turf dispute?"

"S-She puts faith in traitors," Yazoo spat, angered. "She says we must stop them. We follow Mother. But this is _not_ a turf dispute!"

"Only sounds that way," Rude observed. "Specifics, please...?"

Yazoo shivered between breaths, gripping a lamppost for support: "S-She protects the planet. We help. She even bestows mercy on enemies. If this was for territory, she plays no part. Black Sheep are pestilence... pestilence culls the weak, sick, dying... they judge, abjure, execute. She _hates_ them... for what they _do_, not for what they want. We all _want_ what we _want_... but what they _do_... to... _claim_... she _hates_..."

"Hate's a strong word," Reno reflected. "Last time _she_ spat hate was when Princess Kisaragi ripped them off in Wutai. Good times, good times..."

"...M-More," Yazoo stammered. "S-Some... y-your s-side... h-hates... _hates_... her even _more_..."

_Plop..._

Reno slid on the ground. Rolling him, he found Yazoo's eyes glazed over. Loz bounded over and smacked Reno away, taking his brother's body in his arms. Regardless of selfish genes, devotion and solemnity entered his eyes and he blinked, sniffed, and finally raised his head toward the clouds, spraying against the downpour upon him, utterly inconsolable.

The Turks could only watch, suddenly castrated from their prior bravado during their briefing. Both agreed mutely to turn away, letting only their ears absorb the scope of Loz's lament. Reno wanted a cigarette about as much as he wanted to jump into the crematorium next to him; he even discarded his pack to a storm drain, forever dousing another vice. Rude's wrecked quit burning, but his shades got darker and fogged up; he even set them aside and brought a handkerchief to his face.

"Loz..."

"Who said that," Rude called, scanning the scene. "Hey!"

"Loz... do you want to go home now, too?"

"...P-Play...?"

Loz cringed and buried his face upon Yazoo's lifeless form, whimpering. "It's all right," she said. "Forgive me... didn't think Delita could bully you so hard..."

"It's her," Reno cried, ecstatic, confused, overwhelmed, and enervated all at once. "A-Aerith...! C-Can you hear me--?"

"--Loz, come home. They won't hurt you--deep down, they don't want to. I'll handle them. I know how."

"W-Want," Loz stammered weakly. "To play..."

In this, green luminescent ichors formed from Loz and Yazoo, drifting through rain. Reno found relaxed smiles on their faces. Aerith always fascinated the Turk, never openly admitting his innocent crush on her innocence, having lost his eons ago.

"Now," Aerith's voice addressed, sternly clearing her throat. "_Boys_... you realize Delita's Black Sheep seek to usurp the planet's order for their own?"

"Um," Reno hesitated. "I guess; Yazoo--"

"If I may be blunt," Rude asked firmly.

"As long as I'm Aerith," she wondered. "Sure."

"How _do_ we kill that muthafugga?"

"You don't..."

"...Well that's reassuring; cryptic puzzle?"

"No materia, bike blew up... hate to be frank--"

"--Your name's Aerith," Reno protested jokingly, fighting off memories of bad encounters with her in the old days.

"Um... okay, to be honest, you haven't a chance against Black Sheep. They're so tough, trained, and clued-up about you that it's ritual misery. What _I_ know will cook your brains out through your ears!"

"W-Wait," Reno cried, unwilling to stand idly by. "What _can_ we do? Yazoo said someone's on the inside... inside of _our_ company? Who wants to cook _your_ brains through the ears, Aerith?"

"Wild guess," she defended. "Good theory though; some from this planet might collaborate; need to know how to get past your hi-tech gizmos, right? Monsters are too simple. When they issued the hue and cry they thought the brothers showed up; Black Sheep came _first_, we _reacted_."

"Does anybody from this world know about Black Sheep," Reno asked. "There's got to be someone--!"

"You two," Aerith uttered. "Nobody thinks Black Sheep exist. It goes without saying that some things are better left unsaid. That speaks for itself; less said about it the better... sound familiar?"

"Embarrassing," Rude muttered. "True, but embarrassing; it's our job."

"_And_ mine... the powers that be don't want me saying _anything!_"

"Make an exception just once," Rude pleaded. "I know WRO or Avalanche would jump these suckers. They clean up wherever Shin-Ra botched up--"

"--Not one _peep_ to anyone, not Avalance, not WRO, _nobody...!_"

"Whoa, stark," Reno criticized. "Not even Cloud?"

"Not _even_ Cloud...

"...Don't worry... we _can_ handle it. Just verify any traitors... stop them if you can. You can handle something from your _own_ planet, right? I'll handle threats from _beyond_, okay?"

"Hold it," Reno cried. "What about the brothers? Are they _okay?_"

"Don't worry," Aerith sweetly remarked. "They're with me now... except Kadaj."

"Uh yeah," Reno grimaced sheepishly. "Is he still alive?"

"Exhausted," Aerith implied, holding back giggling. "He's starting to hate those cute RC machines."

"Another question," Rude soberly addressed. "You know... just his luck... um will Delita fall from the sky near him?"

"Why yes!"

"Oh _great_; _huff_ it, Reno!"

**XOXO**

Kadaj parried the device's very last bullet. He heard the cannon click senselessly, sighed and shook perspiration from his head somewhat dispelling his hair's bad form but not the sheer filthy feeling. The thing still circled him...! His twin-blade became his cane, bracing his leaden weight.

"N-Next time Reno," Kadaj swore between breaths. "The... the next time... we meet, Reno... will... be... your last...!"

He exhaled powerfully as lactic acid coursed his frame. He already felt a connection snap from his brothers; the Turks somehow one-upped them, if Delita didn't kill them.

He hated RC machines more.

"Mother never cared for them anyway," he cited, spitting. "Thought the failure's ride was harsh... hope nothing flies my way anytime soon--"

Funny he said that, for in his awkward weariness, his ears failed to register a constant, prolonged, shocked and aggravated scream that flew past as a miserable-smelling fireball, crashing and smashing Reno's automated vehicle, skidding thirty feet against pavement before exploding in a fireball.

Sensing pure poetry, Kadaj just stared in bug-eyed disbelief. He snorted back a few laughs and blinked twice before exhaling coolly, his breath caught up. He warily approached the landscape of debris, violently burning, the sinister man's hatred a smoky bonfire.

Kadaj stopped laughing. "What do you want with Mother," cried he. "Why did you come to this world?"

"...I should ask you the same question," replied Delita, patting minor fires from arms and legs. "Her existence impedes our goal. Soul of the ever-dying--that and this Lifestream--mans the Planet's lifeblood. When she awakens to our reality she will reshape it for us... what we really want, Kadaj, is to travel the darkness of Cosmos using this Planet as our vessel, as your true biological Mother did before!"

Kadaj stood there, wincing and squinting, rattling twin-blade shakily yet tightly. Somewhere deep inside, he recalled similar words and, truly... even _he_ failed to comprehend them.

"Care to _repeat_ that?"

Dread Knight Delita chuckled. "Hey... you know what," he cried. "I got no clue what I'm saying. I just thought it'd make me sound cool!"

Cheesy punk...!

"Dominate Mother will ya," Kadaj cried. "Die!"

He raised his arm and concentrated, essences congealing to his hand. It demanded pure precision; fell only Delita. He quit rapidly flexing the fingers, brought his other hand up and an electrical discharge nicked Delita before he could evade. The weak amplitude refrained from immediate death; Kadaj preferred a duel to vindicate his losses. He bounded from one foot for a righteous decapitation...

...But Delita grasped the twin-blade, and Kadaj nearly passed his right shoulder but spun to meet his gaze, gripping the hilt. "Impressive," Delita cackled.

Instead of taking a brutal punch, Kadaj let his blade go and dove away. He wished to join his brothers, but how would Mother endure Delita then? ...He impulsively smiled, gaining a newfound ambition to seize total glory; he'd prove Delita's as unattainable and Mother would shower her affection solely upon him instead of his dimwit brothers!

The katana flew through the air at Kadaj's unguarded, unaware head...!

"Snooch to the nooch--!"

A sudden impact sent Kadaj flailing to the ground, underneath new deadweight. He jerked his head painfully to discover that same redhead with goofy smirk. Delita did not have to cry "You again!" for Kadaj to identify his apparent savior.

In fact, he clutched this jerk's neck.

"Quit smiling blue-eyes," he cried. "And _stop interfering!_"

"S-She," Reno gagged, cross-eyed. "S-Sent--"

Tossing Reno aside, Kadaj stood up as that bald, gruff dude held his twin-blade's hilt sword before him. "You dropped--"

Kadaj ripped it from Rude's hand and palm-struck him in the nose, doubling him over. With the Turk reeling on the pavement, the ungrateful punk triumphantly held the blade to his face.

"--Yo," Reno shouted belligerently. "You got to turn that frown upside down!"

"Shut it punk," Kadaj protested. "Either chuck those stupid shades off your head or wear them!"

Reno felt his head like he discovered a brave new world. "Oh my God I _am_ wearing my shades on my head," he cried as he turned to Rude. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It never came up," replied his stoic associate.

"Well anyway," Kadaj said hesitantly. "I'll just make this easier on myself and the planet so _**DIE--!**_"

Rude hopped two, three, four times from Kadaj's frenzied slashes. Amazed and disturbed, Reno fumbled his prod on. A bestial scream later and Kadaj got a black glove to _his_ nose, reeling backwards.

"Either you're with us," Rude proclaimed.

"--Or against us," Reno finished.

Kadaj shook his head irately, shaking off the 'dizzies' and lowered his stance. "I won't hesitate," he cried. "I'll let Mother sort your out when it's over..."

Reno cranked his prod--maximum firepower--and hungrily eyed each foe. One clearly looked tastier, while the other split his attentions between both--a vicious triangle, really. Rude took to his heels, letting Kadaj focus upon the smarmy redhead who rammed him.

"Look man," Reno cried, most frantic. "I saved your life! I could--"

Too late to negotiate; Kadaj rushed in to upper-swipe him. Reno anticipated cut's angle and leapt aside, taking the pavement hard; his dry-cleaning bill came sooner than desired... three weeks' time, at least. Kadaj sneered as his prey rolled along, gripping his steel with both hands to pin it upon the earth.

"_No!_"

Reno heard it too.

"Mother...?" Kadaj looked around, his muscles relaxing.

Reno took the opportunity, now on his feet. His sheepish associate returned, averting his eyes from his buddy after stepping away for an opportunity that never came.

Kadaj grudgingly felt his blade's length. "Okay," he casually remarked, shrugging. "Story checks out..."

His eyes slowly crept around at the first laugh from the greater evil, who spun his blade around ambling--no, strutting--towards them.

"What's so funny," Kadaj asked. "You understand payback for disgraces..."

"Disgrace indeed," Delita drabbled. "So I know what payback is..."

"What's that?"

"...A _bitch_."

"Shut up!"

Kadaj blindly rushed Delita, who stabbed the blade in time. Kadaj leapt the heated line upon the ground while the Turks shrouded their eyes in coat-sleeves as a furious explosion and crystalline sword-shaped pillar ruptured before them. Smoke and ash, bad cheese and rotten eggs emulsified both wrath and dread within both, especially as they heard furious clangs and harsh words beyond the incessant rumble.

"You can't kill me," Kadaj screamed between parries. "Stop insulting her!"

The Turks raced around the blast's bend. "I ain't calling it a day yet man," Reno cried running ahead of Rude. "Book it!"

Getting around the lava pool, they scanned for openings. Delita parried, clashed, and warded Kadaj from a preferred range, forcing nothing but crazy lunges that left the remnant open. As the daring knight, with a marvelous emphasis on mobility regardless of heavy armor, failed to connect, misses merely emboldened him.

"How did anybody else but Cloud get the upshot on that guy?"

Rude glanced to his startled associate and adjusted his shades. "Stab the ground, rouse pillars of fire," he explained. "Bag the allegorical Pharaoh's Chariots with 'em...!"

Kadaj spun in the air and stabbed the ground, but Delita, holding sword behind his back, stepped aside in time. As he spun, Kadaj raised his blade, deflecting a counter. Suddenly, the tiring adversary lurched back and toppled prone, perhaps finally tiring form the armor's weight.

"Now's our chance," Reno cried. "Go!"

Rude lost no time racing to snatch the sword from Delita--the purported source of his potency--but his agility failed him as Delita rolled along the ground, also omitting Kadaj's marvelous finish. Rude knew sprinting full-force demanded compromise... so he dashed faster. Delita's head snapped to behold Rude lifting his foot into the air...!

_Crash--!_

The knight flew back and slammed upon the ground.

Rude's eyes scanned Delita's _majority_ as Reno marveled at the heights his foe's helmet climbed. He grimaced as Rude's lacked thoroughness; he mutely glared at their adversary's pained, pale, pristine mug. Brown hair--slicked back to greasy perfection--and thick eyebrows distinctly resembled the earth's salt, like his world's noble caste of knighthood dismissed this outsider, also. Reno considered Delita's complexion either a testament to excellent armor--he endured both Turks' bikes blowing up--or he was immortal: maddening to behold, impossible to kill.

Rude retained morale, smirking grimly: "Oh I'm sorry did I break your concentration? Please! Continue."

As he borrowed lines from his favorite movie, Reno felt his prod's switch a third or fourth time. Delita gripped his blade's chain and wrenched it all from Rude's stomp, speedily climbing back up. Kadaj, processing his nuisances' continued generosity, thrust his twin-blade at the greater threat at last.

"Silence," Delita cried, his sword now windmill smashing the twin-blade from Kadaj's hand, prepared to convert this leatherneck into sushi. It dove away for his steel, afraid to try Rude's stunts; he felt a breeze upon his face right before leaping away!

"Reno," Rude shouted. "Tap it!"

True, Delita consisted mostly of ninety-nine percent metal surrounded by an equally impressive exoskeleton container; electrocuting him typically succeeded. But Reno also knew whatever metals comprising the blade, armor, body, mind, and soul of his opponent were also denser than whatever cheap lightweight faire comprised his prod. Couple this with a sensitive construction involving moving parts, delicate wires and chemicals, and anyone could anticipate Reno's reaction:

"Where's your crown, pretty-boy!"

"W-What...?"

And Reno ran.

"Ha," Delita laughed curtly. "Dinner-break already...? Tonight I dine on many a wayward soul, myself!" Delita's windmill stopped in his hand; he gripped it with both and held it as a dagger in both hands ready to pierce the heart. "Perhaps this will fill your appetite for destruction!"

And he plunged the blade into the earth, sending another hot line towards the fountain, and exploding the concrete in a single blast before the bewildered agents. They shielded their eyes and stepped back from the shrapnel and coals, knowing now that while it may be dark, at least they didn't need flashlights to see out there. The Dark Knight laughed at what he wrought.

Just as Kadaj found his blade several feet away, he got forced into somersaulting away from some stray head, a hollow boulder of bronze that plummeted from the sky. It resembled Reeve Tuesti's strangely benign and slick head, save the melted spot along the forehead and eye. The gigantic sword-like pillar of fire tipped him off about why debris flew around.

Though Kadaj huffed his way to the scene again, blade girded in white knuckles, he cursed himself for his tardiness, for Delita roared and stabbed the sword repeatedly into the earth. And every time he did--eight or nine times--the lines along the ground spread in multiple paths, and all along the city block, whole buildings exploded, toppled, splintered, scattered, and ultimately bowed down before their would-be exalted ruler. Being called a remnant felt less painful.

"You proved your point," Kadaj cried. "Now cut these people loose...!"

"I can't hear ya," shouted Delita blissfully, stabbing a stray piece of fiery wood near his feet. "Ya talkin to me?"

"Delita you proved your damned point," he cried, harder and in dismay. "Now cut the humans some slack! All you _do_ is cut, right!"

"Thank you," Delita dismissed, spinning with his blade and flaming beam attached to it. "I'll take it under advisement!"

And the beam spun violently through the air toward Kadaj's head. He ducked it easily enough, but he knew bending back to place cost him minute time; Delita violently roared and charged, blade held behind his back. Kadaj considered matching the knight's tactics as absurd just like this whole slugfest, especially considering he sent Loz and Yazoo out and then got bungled with the Turks and their stupid machine!

Barring better ideas, Kadaj retreated, clasping the severed bronze head of the noble Tuesti into his grips and flinging it at the dark knight. Surprised, Delita ducked and sent his blade to smash downward, swatting the heavy debris aside and stopping dead in his tracks. At least he did that; Kadaj secretly contemplated something better than direct onslaughts that spelled suicide in four letters beginning with D.

"You plan the impossible," cried Kadaj. "Baiting Mother's minions to engage you... just plain dumb!"

"What can I say," Delita shrugged, gauging his opponent with flawless eye contact and dreaded most battered set of teeth the silver-haired child had seen. "Tonight, the devil's spirit is restless!"

And Delita spun his blade overhead, and stopped to point it straight at Kadaj. Some aura of indigo, translucent and pointed, stabbed through his body, and though it went through, Kadaj bled not. But he felt as if his heart stopped for three seconds. He even felt like standing there and letting Delita laugh long enough to let the knight stop and finish him off. He felt rotten enough to drop to a knee and yield the fight.

That is... until those imbecile Turks returned and Delita spun to slash the bald brawler...!

"Yo Kadaj," Reno cried, sliding in to grip his hand. "You still cool over here?"

"...L-Leave me alone," Kadaj cried, defiantly. "This is your fault!"

"Okay, okay," Reno cried. "I'm sorry for sending my ride on auto-kill but we're just stupid humans and don't know any better! Man, even she got lippy with us! ...But we want this jerk KO'd too."

"Hundred..."

"What?"

"I'm a fifty, Loz's forty, Yazoo's forty. We'd take him and have thirty over. You and your buddy are twenties with the gear--tens now! This guy will pound us and have thirty over, get it?"

Rude swallowed a pommel and hit the pavement.

"We called emergency back-up," Reno shrugged. "Boys ought to show up any minute now."

"Boys marching to their doom," Kadaj complained, pulling upwards with Reno's cool grip leading back up. "Nothing short of ushering a full retreat will get this bloodhound to shut up, and we can't _do_ that--!"

Something big and bad struck Reno's back, topping the two onto the ground again. Kadaj's sights got blinded with Reno on top like that, and then he shuffled out, he also noticed Rude, wounded and weary. Delita naturally cackled at making a Reno sandwich for himself.

"Fives," Kadaj quipped, in pain even. "You're both fives now. He's getting forty tonight."

"Rude," Reno cried, shaking his inert companion. "Speak to me!"

"Not tonight Tifa," Rude mumbled. "Too tired..."

Reno slapped the idiot awake and yanked him afloat. Kadaj noted his sword smelled nothing of blood and considered his new meat-shields quite lucky for it; they each fell hard.

"H-He flung me," Rude cried, amazed. "One-handed! Don't grapple with that guy, ever!"

Suddenly, as he raised his ears beyond the din of towering infernos around them, Kadaj shielded his eyes from the spotlight emanated from a chopping noise far above their heads.

"Oh," Delita shouted, brandishing his steel. "Almost forgot!"

And he swung his blade in a similar fashion from before, and a gigantic thunderclap blasted their ears; the spotlight upon Kadaj stopped, and a horrific blast erupted in the sky. The sky flashed long enough to note three choppers... and one of them started descending to the earth... quickly.

The few buildings that survived Delita's initial rampage of... whatever his sword was actually capable of... might have felt at ease as their brothers got leveled in their miserable fortune. One chopper struck a building as others struck the town square; even a body flew out from one to escape the torture, fearing no instant death below. Reno distinguished a spray of some kind of red powdery chemical... the same kind of agent they use to spray forest fires with. These guys flying the machines served in Fire and Rescue.

"What's wrong," Delita shouted. "Speechless?"

"...B-Bastard!"

Reno forsook reason for vengeance, racing ahead. He stopped as Delita held the blade in the air, perchance to repeat this lather and rinse routine. "One move," Delita cried, grinning. "And I back _you_ up."

Reno stepped back.

"This is impossible," he shuddered to himself. "He's toying with us."

"Don't give up," Kadaj cried. "I'll take a bunch of _ones_ to teach him a lesson in civility!"

"I feel more like two _bits_," Rude complained, cracking his back. "But I'll do my job... I don't care what people will say of me after this."

"Whatever," Kadaj said. "Got any ideas?"

"One," Reno said, now in the middle with Kadaj to his left and Rude on his right. "You distract," he pointed to Rude. "I stun," he pointed to himself. "You kill," he pointed to Kadaj. "You cool with that?"

"_I_ nail him," Kadaj asked.

"Yeah," Reno said. "You can brag to Mother."

"Exactly," grinned Kadaj.

Rude dashed straight for the heartless fiend, and it anticipated. The annoying punk succeeded twice--nay, four times--in dodging the Crimson Pain's elongated blade. The physical training of Turks certainly never accounted for this; this guy did extra credit, the extra-curricular sort of bullshit that amounts to nothing but a pug with actual sense for once. Delita grinned evilly, though only because he got something of a challenge; even a Crusher Beacon failed to stave these idiots off.

"You fight well for corporate swine," Delita reflected between jabs. "Suppose I extend an invitation to you? You will find the benefits package and retirement bonuses well in order!"

"And you talk well for one who can't shut up," Rude cried, irritated. "You want to repeat all that with a fist up your nose, punk!"

Rude dove in, eager to smash this guy's pretty mug. He cared little if Kadaj dealt the actual killing blow; he required bloodying that mug if it made him feel more than two-bit! Everything he learned from the dojo, the streets, from Tifa... everything demanded that he take one swat to this bruiser's face. Absolutely under no condition will he let the corporate swine come along and preserve this prick's remains and study him to exploit the secrets behind his superhuman bullshit artistry!

"Pitiful," Delita cried between slices. "I hear that barmaid's quite the cup. Maybe I'll talk to my boss and see if I can't make her mine! You _could_ still make her yours... you'd _sleep_ easier, wouldn't you?"

"Disgusting," Rude cried. "I hear she'd kill you ten times before you realized you _pissed her off!_ Maybe you can tell your _boss_ I'd rather see to it she's happy than mine... _you'd_ sleep easier, _period!_"

After a swing or two, they gazed at each other's face, and struck with either fist or pommel, effectively slamming the other simultaneously. The disheartening crunch to their own face gave way as Delita gazed into Rude's broken shades and ruthless glare... and Rude, to his satisfaction as Delita's nose finally trickled. So the devil could bleed after all, and _yes_ Delita, I _do_ have eyes!

Rude leapt away, into full devastating range of Delita's blade, but also out of his own grappling. He never intended to grapple after what happened last time, and this moment became crucial and abbreviated:

Reno stuck the savage from behind.

Delita's cackling cry and chattering of teeth--a full-body spasm with jagged lines of light and energy flickering through his armor--caused the iron constitution in Rude to snap and usher a gag. Insult a good friend, perhaps, but never should anyone suffer a fate like that for it. Then again, he just blew a rescue chopper, so it evened out.

When Reno's grit smirk loosened up, noting the severe bleeding from Delita's eye-sockets you never noticed without the helmet getting thrown off, he backed off. He knew the range on that sword remained deadly. So the Turks stayed at opposite ends of its range, and Delita stood there, trying not to swerve or topple.

"The only bacon I smell is _you_," Reno insulted. "_Extra_ crispy...!"

Just then, Delita turned in time as Kadaj rushed in and ran him through. He faced away at first. "Pre-sliced," the elated Kadaj joked, never knowing Delita could bleed until then, as he turned to marvel at the damage.

Delita did not budge but his side trickled true. The twin-blade sliced through chains between the plates. Kadaj slowly walked toward his foe, seeking a stray bit of chain around the neck aside of the assembly of steel, some kind of bauble that could end this once and for all. But as he approached as the Turks mutely gauged the scene, Delita spun around and grinned, a mouthful of blood.

"Five," Delita coughed, spitting blood at Kadaj. "Four, three--"

And he dropped back and fell with a thud.

"Close call," Kadaj said, grinning toward Reno, the closer one. But before he could look down on Delita, something snapped from within. "AH!"

Kadaj gripped his chest, shocked and pained, and his sword fell limply from its clammy grip. Reno immediately noticed the change on the kid's face and ran to him, braving all dirty play. "Kadaj," Reno asked. "Kadaj, what's wrong!"

"C-Can't," Kadaj cried, clutching his chest. "Breathe...!"

Now he toppled over.

Reno knelt before Kadaj, feeling the pulse--erratic, if even there. The Remnant's surprised stare and streams of sweat exemplified a fate Reno could not avert, even with Rude backing him up. For once, the Turk stared upon death written in the face of an adversary and trembled.

"M-Moth," Kadaj cried. "M-Moth-M-M-Mother...!"

And he became lifeless.

"Reno," Rude shouted. "He's still movin'!"

"Not for long!"

Reno rushed up and kicked the smile off Delita's weakened face. "What the hell is this," he cried. "What did you do to him--?"

"Looked like a heart attack," Rude noted, scanning Kadaj's corpse. "Dioxides, potassium chloride... what'd you punch him with!"

Delita laughed weakly, and growling, Reno kicked him again. "_Tell us you pig!_"

"H-Heart...Breaker..."

And Delita's head drooped to a side, away from Reno to mask the pain upon his face. Reno looked ready to claw off his ponytail, his hands shook so violently.

"Ugh," Reno cried. "God, this is so unfair...!"

Rude analyzed Kadaj's behavior; he analyzed Delita's head or chest for something. By chance he found a gold chain amidst the gray and black--diamond in the rough, he hoped--and grabbed for it. It became a pendant in his hand. Upon the amulet, he noticed an engraving of someone's mouth blowing onto little blades... blades of grass? As a kid Rude once saw someone blowing on reeds and blades of grass to produce musical notes. If he read enough magi-fiction, he could conclude this as a device--a phylactery--representative of a side in the being that allows it to sustain its life well beyond natural means.

In one harsh tug, Rude held the phylactery in his hands. He checked it closer, and suddenly the knight convulsed. Rude spun away, fearing a counter, but it seemed Delita's pain omitted voluntary movements. A howling wind amidst the soaking rainstorm kicked up smoke from Delita's now igniting body, and his ruthless cries into the crumbling sky went unanswered. Even the metal vanished, and the immortal glowing ichors of his spirit--red and black--bled away from his rapidly inhuman form. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled three times.

"We did it," Rude said.

"About time," Reno commented, holding the lifeless Kadaj, confused at why he ever called Cloud insensitive that one time. "Think we're running behind schedule...?"

Ichors of green fled from Kadaj, and a breathless sigh escaped the spectator beyond their sight. "I've said my piece," she whispered, as the lifeless Kadaj drifted away in luminescent bits. "And I'll... leave it all up to you..."

Just then, Reno got up, unhindered from a body, seeing no adversaries in sight and a payload of carnage inexplicable even to the most forgiving Tuesti after feeding him his favorite kind of espresso. The joke failed to amuse a smile out of the dirty, bleeding, bruised, and otherwise aching Turk.

And straight ahead, Rude stood there, holding the strange golden amulet he pulled from Delita to apparently end the fight. He failed to put on new shades, and his eyes perfectly betrayed him. He often got solemn, elated, stern, strange, and outright emotional with those eyes. They always betrayed him. After training went by, Tseng insisted he wear shades to dodge giving away his intent or his stance before others. Rude clutched his coat pocket and donned a fresh set from a mere glance from his partner, for her rain refused to shroud why Rude self-consciously blinked so many times.

But who would bother looking! From their perspective, nobody dwelled out here. The rumbling of nearby buildings, with strong winds vying to dispel the noxious fumes from their smoldering frames, served as their sole neighbors. They mistook those guys for jerks--failed to recognize their powers of choice and change--and also phoned in a rescue unit to their imminent doom. Even with those slights, they engaged something so beyond their reasoning, beyond all reason, and even Aerith's voice--deservingly from prior slights--grew cold to them. Who would bother?

Reno dropped to his knees. He barely recognized how Rude knelt down and grabbed him. Reno tossed the emptied prod and embraced his companion--no longer his fellow co-worker--and kneeling together in that drizzly drenched chaos, heavy fires their lullaby, both Turks considered letting go as Loz would in trying times as these. Kadaj could learn a thing or two; even as agents trained to guard their emotions, nothing dared deny their existence. Throughout this moment, eternity ceased alongside time; a half-hour passed without recognition.

Someone else cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," a familiar voice grunted. "I thought I had bad timing... but not this bad...!"

The two Turks shook and checked over their shoulders to the one man they haven't seen in at least an hour, none worse from his own ordeal, except needing a good brush to get those dark strands straightened out again. Their superior clenched his forehead, both to express disdain and to shield his eyes from the fires behind the two ragged agents.

"As I was saying," Tseng said. "Your report better include three blind mice--Hickory Dickory and Dock--lead through the heads like clockwork."

"...They're dead," Reno lied (they drifted away but that meant nothing) to his superior. "Your girl saw to that."

"Reno," Tseng huffed stoically. "You know anything between Elena and I is thoroughly platonic--"

"--Your _other_ girl, wink-wink...!"

Tseng blinked twice. Arms behind the back... the pose suddenly hurt. It always hurt with her around. "Yeah her," Reno elaborated. "Same babe that always got under your skin... like clockwork."

"Yeah," Rude grunted. "And they were all working together to nix the bastard that blew 'bout ten buildings and the fountain away... not to mention the pair of shades I borrowed from you last Tuesday..."

"Five-hundred Gil shades," Tseng winced. "You compare this kind of senseless destruction to a pair of shades... even if they are mine?"

"They _were_ nice shades--"

"That's beside the point! ...What am I going to tell Reeve after this? We barely got through to Wutai 'bout our company's benevolence and have barely touched the clean-up of Deep-Ground--!"

Tseng backed away, taking a deep breath. He bit back against his anger and over the past two or three years it only got worse. The subordinates just relaxed and stayed cool until he could speak: "Only thing I want out of you is evidence that something happened here..."

"Oh sure," Reno said, thumbing casually to Rude. "Show 'em man."

Rude extended in his hand a pendant of gold, reflecting the light of the fires. For a moment, Tseng's face nearly brightened up in the light of the fires reflected to his face, and his stern pair of eyes, including the third one they occasionally joked about--that mole in the forehead, hinting at exotic origin--brightened in turn.

"That's it," Tseng scoffed. "You're joking... that's all you have?"

"Sorry sir," Rude said. "But I found it on the guy. I don't know what it does exactly, but he finally disappeared when I took it. Then again we did trash the sucka... once we got our act together."

"Oh, well then," Tseng shrugged, approaching them. "I figured you were in bad form like a year ago, trying to stay ahead of those adolescent meatheads."

"You call saving orphans from certain death bad form," Reno complained. "And I do get calls from Tifa to thank the both of us for sticking our necks out, okay? Let's not say we were in bad form in saving children's lives... _this_ was just plain killing and we nearly lost had it not been for realizing those remnant guys _could_ in fact change."

"So you say, so you say," Tseng remarked coolly. He held his hand out towards Rude. "Could I see that?"

"Yes sir," Rude said, never hesitating to serve his superiors. Tseng took the pendant from the hand, quick on the uptake, and held it in the fire's light, turned away from his mute subordinate. "Is everything in order, sir?"

"Yes, quite," Tseng remarked, collecting the device and pocketing it, still turned away from the two of them. "Boys back at the lab ought to have some downtime to kill on this one. And I bet the two of you might get pay-raises if the higher-ups can stomach your report; civilization is in for a beating if someone _other_ than our legendary ex-SOLDIER First Class can hammer the death out of three foolish remnant-turned-servants of the flower child, _ha!_"

Tseng laughed. Rude _rarely_ winced. Thank goodness he replaced his shades.

"Ah, I'm calling it a day; monsters fall down go boom," Tseng chirped, turning away in brisk style towards his private chopper. "Go tell the fire rescue clown-shoes where the fire is, clown-shoes..."

Reno waved, but Tseng never looked back. He boarded his craft and lifted away. Rude adjusted his shades--nervous habit--and observed a new kind of trembling in his hand. His ears processed it several thousand times over in a timeless moment.

"Reno?"

"--Yeah, yeah, I do the dry cleaning."

"No-no-no-no-no, I meant: when was the last time he said _that?_"

They glanced to each other. "Say _what_, Rude?"

"When was the last time he said _'Clown-Shoe'_ to us?"

Reno knew the answer: "Since never?"

The world crumbled.

"Exactly," Aerith murmured.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_"Alpha is not only the first in line, but also the first in significance. The alpha emotion: I see two people's reactions. They are shaken to the core; they lean against each other for support. It is an unnamed feeling, a sort of platonic love that unites all humanity in front of danger, and especially those two..."_

_My GA and friend Marilena said that about the picture that inspired this story. It evolved into the title. Many thanks go to her._

_Caryn-Alongi drew the Reno & Rude picture this story was inspired by. It it titled the Glorious End of the Line. It may be found at deviantArt, though because of some stupid editing mechanism, I can't provide a hyperlink through the story text._

_Delita is Delita Hyral, antiheroic ally of Ramza Beoulve from Final Fantasy Tactics. He serves in a corps called Black Sheep. This story's antagonist also applies Delita's Holy Knight powers. He felled Kadaj through a technique he renamed "Heart Breaker." It used to be called "Split Punch," a holy sword technique Delita used in certain scripted battles in the game. The "Crusher Beacon" is obviously the "Crush Punch" (physically described in like manner only increased in amplitude to match Auron's Dragon Fang proportions). Delita also says a variation of the verbal cues spoken occasionally when Holy Sword techniques are invoked. On a side note, Kadaj dies from what looks like a heart attack because Delita's Heart Breaker/Split Punch technique occasionally inflicts the "Death Sentence" status effect upon its target._

_Reno and Rude are among my favorite game characters. I tried fitting Aerith and Yuffie in the dream role of Jay and Silent Bob but I got people boxing my ears over it. Reno and Rude fit better. I even have the image that will practically write that story (again found at deviantArt; run a search and you'll find it!)._

_This story replies to another challenge issued at the GA-BBS. Genesis Awards will award excellent Final Fantasy Seven Fan-Fiction in November; I am a judge there (link provided in my profile). In this story, I needed to pit the remnants and the Turks against each other. If I set it after the movie, another fight just seemed extraneous without throwing a curveball. Perhaps Aerith might shape up all of them into a united front of good against a far greater supernatural evil. She has her way with guys as I have never witnessed otherwise._

_There are moments and phrases here inspired by Metallica (specifically, the underrated Load album). What can I say? I'm a fan._

_This is a one-shot, but dragged to over ten thousand words not counting author's comments. It is wholly stylistic to describe battles with clarity and intensity, and I couldn't get it any smaller. I needed to create a vivid tale with an excellent twist. You did get the twist at the end, didn't you?_

_...Thank you for reading._

_**...Until Next Time...**_


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